R E S P E C T!
by zuzuthezombie
Summary: Zim gets horribly sick, and calls the Doctor for help. But there may be something more sinister behind this... Eventual ZADF. Everything is c Jhonen Vasquez and BBC.
1. Guess What? I hate you!

Dib limped into the classroom, glancing up to scowl at Zim. The bottom of his shirt and pants were in tatters from an explosion. One that, yet again, no one had seemed to notice. Zim smirked back at his scowl.

"Nice try, Dib-stink, but you can't defeat the AMAZING ZIIM!" he yelled, laughing, but at the end turned into a cough. "What are _you _looking at?" he snapped at Dib when he noticed him looking at him strangely. Dib just turned away and went to his seat.

"Dib! You're late!" Ms. Bitters snapped.

"Sorry, Ms. Bitters, but-"

"You have detention!" she cut him off. "You're all DOOOOOMED! You will all eventually die, so get used to this! Today we will learn about the many ways that people can die..."

Dib quickly tuned her out and returned to his usual pastime in Skool: watching Zim. Today Zim was just... sitting there, staring at Ms. Bitters, apparently listening intently. His brows raised and lowered expressively, and he pulled out a thick, leather-bound notebook and began scribbling furiously. Dib had never seen him writing in it before, and he was dying to see what he was writing. Probably on all the ways that Humans could die. The way he was writing was strange, though. He would start in a seemingly random place and then fill out the rest of the paper with, from what Dib could see of his hand moving, circles.

Zim never once looked up from his writing, not even when the bell rang for lunch, and then to go outside. He walked slowly off to a remote corner of the yard, still scribbling like mad. When the bell sounded for them to go back to class, he glanced up and snapped the dark brown book closed, tucking a length of maroon ribbon in to save his page. Dib was going to snatch it from him when he ran past, but was disappointed when he shoved it up his shirt and sprinted towards the building, clutching at his chest so it didn't fall out.

Zim spent the remainder of class on what appeared to be a cell phone. He was fiddling with it and kept pulling out tools to modify it in some minuscule way. He would zap it or something, type in a number, hold it to the side of his head, then try to fix it again.

"Zim! Is that a phone I see?" Ms. Bitters hissed, swirling over to Zim.

"No, Ms. Bitters!" Zim slipped it into his pocket.

"Don't lie to me! Give me the phone!" Zim lowered his head and put it in her outstretched hand. "For that, I will incinerate it, and you get detention!" she floated over to her desk, where a square opened up, showing flames licking up through the hole. She dropped the phone in and it closed with a bang. She quickly went back to her lecture about dying. Zim glared at her and pulled out the notebook again, writing even faster than before. He barely registered when the end bell sounded, only looking up when Torque smacked the back of his head. Then he shoved it back up the front of his shirt and stayed put for detention.

"Zim, Dib, scoot over one!" Ms. Bitters ordered. They moved over one seat, so that they were sitting in the middle next to each other. She took out some dictionaries and slammed them down on the desks in front of them. "Begin memorizing these dictionaries! You've got an hour." she slithered back to her desk and sat down, watching them like a hawk. They sighed and began to read. About twenty minutes later, Zim's hand shot into the air.

"What is it, Zim?" Ms. Bitters growled.

"I'm done memorizing mine, Ms. Bitters." Zim responded, smiling triumphantly at Dib.

"Really now, then tell me what 'pleach' means."

"To braid, Ms. Bitters."

"Fine. You have to stay until Dib is done, though." She shifted in her throne-like chair.

Dib looked down at the book in his hands. He was only on page 3,603,897, not even halfway through! How did Zim do that? Shaking his head, he began to read faster, until he felt something lightly rest on his hand. Surprised, he looked up. Resting on the back of his hand was a tiny slip of paper. _JUST SKIM OVER THE WORDS_. It read in Zim's handwriting. Dib glanced over to Zim, who nodded slightly at him. Dib looked back at the page, eyes flicking quickly over the words, not really absorbing anything. With just a minute to spare, he was done. They quickly handed back their dictionaries and headed out of the building.

"How did you do that?" Dib demanded once they were outside.

"Huh? Do what?" asked Zim, genuinely confused.

"How did you read that so fast?"

"My PAK allows me to absorb information quickly, and I can recall anything that I've done, said, or seen in perfect detail, like a movie, in front of my eyes." Zim nodded.

Dib eyed him warily. He had given up the information too easily. "Okay... then tell me... tell me..." Dib thought for a moment. He couldn't come up with anything. "… the first thing you said to the class."

Zim's fake amethyst eyes unfocused for a moment, then: "'Hello, friends.' Was that _really _the best you could come up with?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Stupid human earth monkey!" He exclaimed. "You shall all PERISH under the WRATH OF THE GREAT ZIM!" He laughed evilly, but at the end it turned into a cough again.

"Guess what?" Dib said.

"What?"

"I hate you!"

Zim rolled his eyes as they split ways, Zim turning left while Dib went right.

xxxXXXxxx

When Dib got to his room, he quickly took out his laptop and hopped onto his bed, and began firing the machine up. Once the start up sequence ended, he connected to the many cameras in Zim's Base. Five separate sections came on, the sixth only crackling with static. He folded his arms in front of him and rested his chin on them, staring at the screen. He perked up when Zim, undisguised, walked into view of camera 5. Dib clicked a key, and the footage of camera 5 filled the screen.

It was in the lab. Zim walked over to a table covered in neat racks of colorful vials. He selected a clear vial, then opened a drawer below and pulled out a syringe. He set the vial down in a smaller, empty, rack, then pulled out a large measuring cup, made of glass, and it didn't have a handle. He scanned the other tubes of liquid for a second, then reached into the back and pulled out a large vial, filled with dark green liquid. Using both hands, he poured about two inches of the stuff into the measuring cup. Next he took out a long, thin, shiny needle from the drawer and placed it in the green solution, submerging it completely. He took the stopper end out of the syringe and poured a bit of the clear stuff into it, quickly sealing it up once more. Pulling the needle out of the cup, he dried it off and inserted it into the small end of the syringe. Ah, so that green liquid was disinfectant. He tugged one of his gloves off and rolled up his sleeve until it reached the middle of his upper arm. He clenched his jaw and slipped the needle into the soft crook of his elbow and slowly injected the contents of the syringe into his system. He slowly, agonizingly, pulled the needle out, the metal tugging at his green skin. Finally, it was out, and he quickly cleaned up, pouring the bit of the green stuff down a sink. When he was done, he paused for a second, examining his claws. He then shrugged, slipped his glove back on, then stepped into an elevator, the platform lifting him up out of view through the clear tube.

Dib had been watching in mute disgust. What was he doing? Shaking his head, Dib clicked another button and the screen went back to the six frames. He kept staring at the screen, until Zim scuttled back into view of camera 5. This time all he did was take a glove off, and open the drawer. He pulled out a small metal thing with a tiny needle on one end. He put a small vial into the other end, then pressed the end with the needle to his palm. There was a _click! _and he removed it from his palm, taking a length of clear fabric off of a roll and wrapping it around his hand to cover the wound. The fabric clouded, then turned the color of his skin. Satisfied, he pulled the glove back on and put everything away, going back up the elevator, bringing the metal thing with him.

Dib frowned. Was he taking blood? Excited now, he scanned the other frames to see if his enemy appeared in one of them. There he was, in camera 2. Dib made the frame fill the screen again.

Zim walked up to a bank of computers and screens. "Computer, analyze this blood sample." He pulled out the tiny vial to reveal his bright pink blood. A part of the compter banks slid out from the wall, revealing a petri dish. Zim poured his blood onto the disc, and the part slid back in.

"**Analyzing..." **the Computer said, and a bar appeared on screen. Loading... 1%... 5%... Zim sat back to wait.

**So, yeah! I will try to update this soon, and if anyone wants to read my other stories, feel free to! About Ax Man, it's better than it seems. Trust me, it isn't just another cliche 'the Armada is trying to take over the world.' Oh, no. It's MUCH better than that. ~ |: zuzu**


	2. Zim is NOT Cold!

**So, here we are with the 2nd chapter of R E S P E C T! The Doctor will make an appearance next chapter, I promise. And, yes, Zim WAS writing Gallifreyan. ~ |: zuzu**

8%... 9%... 10%... Zim was pacing furiously now. It had been EIGHT HOURS now, and Computer was taking a ridiculously long time to analyze his blood. He glared at the screen. 11%... 34%...

"Computer! How LONG does it take you to analyze my blood?" he spat.

Computer sighed. "**My circuits are working as fast as they can. It doesn't help that you just injected some of that serum into your bloodstream."**

"Well then make them work FASTER!" the alien flopped down into his chair again. "Computer, I'm waiting." he gave a yawn to emphasize his point. Computer decided not to warrant this with a response. Zim was staring at the hypnotic progress bar. After about ten more minutes of this, his eyelids began to droop and his head lolled forwards. It instantly snapped back up. He glanced sharply around, as if there were someone watching him. Satisfied, he slid down further into the plush seat and closed his eyes. He could sleep for now.

xxxXXXxxx

Zim was rudely awoken when something small and warm smacked his stomach. His PAK legs unfurled, longer than they had ever been bfore, and, eyes still half-lidded with sleep, the Irken was lifted into the air, about thirty feet up. He felt the warm thing tumble off when he abruptly went up. He looked down. Far below him was Minimoose and Gir. He glared down at them, still to tired to get his 'noise tube' properly functioning again. Slowly, the spider legs retracted, and he settled back into the chair, curling up into a small ball, wanting to sleep more. He was awoken once more when Computer boomed:

"**Analyzing: complete!"**

"YAH!" Zim screamed, falling off the chair. "Computer, be a little QUIET when waking your master!"

Computer sighed again. "**As I said, the analyzing is comlpete. You have been infected with what the Humans call the 'common cold'. Symptoms include aches, coughing, nasal congestion, and fatigue. Also sometimes fevers."**

"Cold? Zim is NOT cold! Although, Zim is a bit warm..." he added.

**"No. You are sick. AS I WAS SAYING, the common cold is caused by germs. You may have a runny nose, and it can be simple sniffles to vomiting.** **There is also something unidentifiable in your bloodstream. Something... ALIEN."**

"GERMS? How is this POSSIBLE? I've sterilised the whole base! No germs should've gotten in!" He kicked at the dark purple floor, grunting as he did so. He stopped abruptly, and his PAK legs spouted out again. He scuttled off into the deeper regions of his Base. Eventually he reached a large globe-shaped room. A floating platform hovered in the middle of the globe. There was a large, dangerous looking contraption hanging from the ceiling. Or, what passed as the ceiling. On the platform was a curved purple chair. The jade skinned figure appeared in a hole at the top of the room. He went a bit further in, then launched himself over to the platform. Once he was settled, he crossed his arms and spoke.

"Computer, show me onscreen the TARDIS. Also, get me the TARDIS phone number and check my temperature." The globe he was sitting in flooded with the image of an alleyway. It was a rather normal alley, a bit thin, but normal, with some garbage lining the sides. The only thing that was abnormal about this was the large blue police box that sat in the middle, leaving just a couple of inches between the brick wall and the blue painted wood. You noticed the box, but not really. Two small monitors swung down, accompanied by a metal arm with a thin metal rod on the end of it. One had a an extremely long phone number on it, the other was blank. Zim opened his mouth, and the metal rod slid in. Almost immediately, the blank screen read 101.4.

"Oh, that's not good." The alien moaned, rubbing his temples. He sighed and scuttled to the workshop area of the Base. He had an extensive collection of cell phones, it seemed, and began doing the same thing he had been doing in Skool. He put radio antennae on them, he took them apart, making hybrids of several kinds. All amounted to the same thing: no signal. Eventually he just got so angry at this that he used the Voice Amplifier on a battery, then put the battery in the spot. He furiously typed in a number, pressing it to the side of his head. His already large eyes got even larger. It worked! But the clock in his PAK said it was time to go to Skool, so he locked the phone up so Gir couldn't get to it.

"Gir, guard the base until I get back from Skool!" he said, but Gir paid no attention.

xxxXXXxxx

At Skool, he seemed to be getting progressively sicker. He could feel his temperature getting higher throughout the day, and he was so uncomfortable that every word Ms. Bitters said was lodged into his brain. He began coughing and sneezing, and he felt weaker and weaker as the day progressed.

"Now, I hope you're all ready to learn about the top ten gross things in your house. Ten: book lice, also known as psocids. They thrive in books and paper, and an infestation can occur in as little as a week. They will also live in flour, grain or cardboard if you don't have paper. Nine: your bedsheets. You shed as many as 1.5 million skin flakes an hour, and you know who likes skin flakes? DUST MITES! They are disgusting, dead-skin eating, allergen causing bugs, that are all over your bedding RIGHT NOW. Eight: your toothbrush. It's disgusting because it lives next to your toilet. If you don't close the lid, it gets some of what was in the toilet on it. Seven: your drain. They just act as gathering spots for ICK. Six: your refrigerator. If you have something moldy in there, there is a good chance that something else will get moldy too. Five: your garbage can. The spoiled food rots even more, creating foul odors. Four: your loofah, washcloth, or sponge. The bacteria need water to live, and they thrive in small nooks and crannies. Three: your vacuum cleaner. Again, bacteria thrive in nooks and crannies, and your carpet absorbs mud from your shoes and spills. Two: your toilet. It is far from being the cleanest place, but it sure isn't the worst. One: YOU!"

The bell rang to go to lunch and reccess, but it was loud, shrill, and irritating in Zim's mind, even if the wig did mute it some. He felt dizzy as he stood up, the room spinning crazily around him. He blinked a couple of times, then tottered off to the lunchroom. Once he got his food, he just sat there, staring at it. The smells were making even more nauseated than they already did. He felt like he was about to be sick. He put his arms out on the table and rested his head on them so that his face was centimeters away from the table. He brought his arms up to cover the top of his head, breathing deeply. He was pretty sure that the common cold usually didn't have these effects. Then again, he was an extraterrestrial, and his body didn't have the same germs and immune system as the Humans did. He gripped onto his toupee. His stomach hurt.

Dib narrowed his eyes at Zim from his table. Was he thinking? Asleep? Talking on a communicator? _Dead? _Now THAT would be nice. Dib stood up, deciding to go find out. He snuck over, as if Zim could see anything. He tip-toed up behind him, then counted slowly to three in his head. "YAH!" he screamed.

After a few seconds, Zim raised his head, blinking. "Eh?" His usually evergreen skin was now the color of a lime. He looked tired, and there were beads of sweat glistening on his skin. He glared once he saw who it was. "What do _you _want, filthy Dib-Human?" he attempted to stand up, but wobbled, falling to his knees, hanging onto the edge of the table for support, blinking rapidly.

"Zim?" Dib raised an eyebrow, backing away slowly. Who knew what he was doing. Most likely playing possum so he would get close, Dib figured. Or, maybe he was on some sort of drugs or had alcohol. Zim was so unknowing about Human culture that he might mistake Vodka for milk or something. The bell screamed for them to go outside, and Zim yelped, curling up into a tiny ball under the table. He whimpered, shaking. Dib grinned triumphantly, beginning to go outside. At the door he stopped, looking back. Maybe he was in danger. At the very least, he could capture him easily. He trotted back over to where Zim was laying on the floor. His eyes were closed. He was so vulnerable right now.

Dib grinned. Yes. He would capture Zim. He pulled out a long length of rope, roughly straightening the now unconscious Zim out and wrapping it tightly around his legs and up his body, binding his arms to his sides. He stopped only to take out a roll of duct tape and taping up the PAK. He finished tying him up and ripped some of the bottom edge of his shirt off so he could gag him. Dib grinned again, picking him up and throwing him over a shoulder carelessly. Zim was surprisingly light; lighter than Dib thought he would be. Dib shrugged his free shoulder, marching happily out of the Skool. He had successfully captured Zim.

xxxXXXxxx

When Dib got home, he went straight down to his father's labs. "Dad, can I use the operating room?" he asked, looking up at the man he was unfortunate enough to call a parent.

"Sure you can, son. Why do you ask?" the man turned away from his rubber dog experiment.

"I've captured Zim and now I'm going to dissect him!"

"The little foreign kid? I never quite heard what country he was from, anyway."

"Dad! I TOLD you, he's from another planet!"

Professor Membrane laughed. "That's nice. Have fun now!" he went back to trying to put his grandmother's diary into the dog.

His son rolled his eyes, speed-walking through the meandering hallways. He opened the door to the operating room with a handscan, two retinal scans and a bellybutton scan. He laid Zim down onto the metal table, then turned away to start scrubbing his hands. He could finally get his Dad to notice him, and he would be famous! Famous! He pulled one glove on, but whirled sharply around when he hear the clanking of metal on metal. It was Zim. The rope was cut, and his PAK legs supported him. They retracted quickly, dropping him onto the floor. He wobbled, falling again, but popped back up quickly and dashed out the sliding door.

"Dammit!" Dib swore, careening out the door after his enemy. "Why didn't we put the scans on the inside, too?" he said to himself. "How did get get out? Oh, wait, those CLAWS. Why didn't I duct tape the claws?" with a final wild spurt of speed, he threw himself onto Zim's back. The PAK knocked the wind out of him, and he tried furiously to get air pumping through him again. He let out a loud gasp as it rushed in. Zim was still struggling beneath him, and Dib reached into his coat for a sedative. His cheek felt warm, and he put a hand up to feel it. Wet. He looked at his hand. It was bloody. Dib looked down at his prisoner. Zim was wildly clawing around, and they were coated in blood. And those were only his GLOVED nails.

Then the pain hit him. He let out a wild scream, rolling off of Zim and clutching at his face. It hurt like hell, and it just seemed to be getting worse. Ignoring Zim, he began crawling as fast as he could back to the operating room. He gave the scans, then ran in and found the antibiotics and bandages. He cleaned it off, putting the bandages onto his cut. The pain started to recede. He remembered about Zim, and sprinted back through the shiny halls to his father's labs.

"Dad," he gasped, "Did Zim (gasp) come through (gasp) here?" he leaned over, placing his hands on his knees.

"Why yes he did, son." Prof. Membrane gestured to the door upstairs with a paper plate.

Dib sprinted up the stairs and outside. He leaned on the door frame. He didn't want to be cliché, but Zim was long gone, probably at home. "Crap." he murmured, then went back inside.

xxxXXXxxx

Zim, however, was having a less than fun time getting home. The duct tape sealed up everything but the PAK legs, and he was weak enough as it was with out trying to rip it off. He was getting progressively weaker, so he had to use the spider legs to get home. He clinked over the roofs of houses, dropping into his front yard. He violently yanked the door open, dashing to the garbage can and falling down, the PAK legs slowing his descent. He went over to the vault that held the phone, opening it swiftly and settling on the floor. He dialed the number and it rang. And rang. And rang some more. Then it went to voicemail.

_"Hello, you've reached the TARDIS phone. I'm probably out saving the universe again, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Bye!"_

Zim took a deep, raspy breath, and began. "Hello, Doctor. I need your help. I-" he coughed. "I am on Earth, in the year 2012. My location is North America, USA. Fellheaver, 555 Memory Lane. I am sick. I do not know how much longer I will last, so... please... c-come soon..." Zim coughed violently again, then collapsed onto the floor.


	3. Hiatus

**I am sorry to announce that this story, and a few of my others, are going on an indefinite hiatus. I am trying to write so many stories at once, and I simply do not have the time to continue all of them.**

**I do hope you understand. **

**~ |: zuzu**


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